The Good, the Bad, and the Grief
by Brighteyes of Thunderclan
Summary: I look just like my father. Everyone says so. The reddish brown pelt, amber eyes, thin tail, and angled features. "Handsome" Mama calls it. He died. Two moons before I was born. And he was a traitor. In the Great Storm, he fought for Darkclan, and turned against Shadowclan. He murdered many of his own clanmates. And I look just like him. I have feared today for many moons...


As I lay there, I wondered what I had ever done to deserve this. What had I done to be lying here now, in a pool of scarlet blood? Oh, yeah. Everything. I had done _everything_. But it was all because of _her_.

* * *

"Bravekit! Bravekit! Today's the day!" Quailkit chirps. I raise my head, sleepy amber eyes trying to follow my best friend as she leaped about my nest.

"Ungh?" I groan, rolling over.

"Yep! That's right! Today we get our apprentice names!" Quailkit squeals. I leap to my paws.

"Today? It's _today_?" I ask, horrified.

"Of course, silly! And you look like a porcupine!" My friend giggles. I glance down at my crumpled red-brown fur and sigh.

"He won't be like this for long!" Lionpride purrs, scooping me up in her paws. My golden furred mother licks my fur, smoothing it and making it gleam like the surface of the pond. "There. Now my little warrior looks the part." She murmurs, blue eyes soft and sad.

"Aw, Mama. I'll only be a den away!" I mew, rubbing my cheek against hers.

"And yet it will be worlds apart." She sighes, sitting back on her hind paws, and gazing at me fondly. I look just like my father. Everyone says so. The reddish brown pelt, amber eyes, thin tail, and angled features. "Handsome" Mama calls it. He died. Two moons before I was born. And he was a traitor. In the Great Storm, he fought for Darkclan, and turned against Shadowclan. He murdered many of his own clanmates. And I look _just. Like. Him. _The only cats who see past my pelt are my mother and Quailkit. Otherwise, I'm alone. I have feared today for moons.

* * *

"Bravepaw, your mentor shall be Sharpcloud." No. Anycat but him. My father had murdered his mate. And his father. That ugly scar upon his left eye? My father's claws. I dare not speak the traitor's name. It is punishable by death, such as the death he brought upon us. Kits are pardoned, apprentices are not. I watched as Sandstar looks down on us as we stonily greet each other, ice-blue eyes cold and calculating. This is on purpose. She desires my failure. Relishes in it. The rebels not only weakened the Clan's numbers, but also poisoned its minds. I am in for the worst of it.

"Quailpaw, your mentor shall be Frozenstep." I watched as the silver she-cat touched noses with my pale brown friend. Just her luck. The kindest cat in the Clan to be her mentor, the third and last cat that doesn't look upon me with disgust. Fate is cruel. Sandstar is crueler.

* * *

I lie beside Lionpride tonight. It is the final time I'll be able to touch her soft fur and breathe in her sweet scent in this lifetime. She had spoken the name. Dare I even think it? Yes. The Clan has severed my trust once and for all. His name was Rowanmask. And I am his son.

* * *

Quailheart and I sit together tonight. Vigil is important on your first night as a warrior. I never even thought I'd make it here. The chill of Leafbare's frost pierces my fur, and Quailheart presses against me. She is the only thing that keeps me tethered to this world, my best friend. And, better yet, my mate.

* * *

I am an exile. Loner. Outcast. Traitor. The apple doesn't fall from the tree, the elders said. He'll be just like his father. I guess they were right. But Sandstar deserved to die. She was cold, heartless. No leader should be that way. But now, with her blood on my paws, I can no longer feel anything either. My dearest Quailheart is no longer by my side. I walk alone. They never loved me anyway.

* * *

I see her. Her soft light brown fur, her shining green eyes as bright as Newleaf leaves on the trees. Her scent…it's still the same. Sweet as honey. I wonder if she'll even recognize me. I must be forgotten by now. But she of course is not. Even when I was her mate, all the toms fawned over her, and everycat doted upon her every move. Just what you get when you're daughter of the most celebrated leader in Shadowclan's history. Ashstar. His name grates like barbs across my tongue. When he died, Quailheart wasn't even one moon old. And yet, the Clan adored her. Probably still does. Her life has been nothing but love. We're opposites, but we connected perfectly. I watch, debating with myself, longing to hear her…to _touch_ her once again. As I straighten, preparing to show myself, I hear twigs snapping. Ducking down, I hold my breath, fear latching in my heart. No matter how many cats I've fought, no matter how many I've killed, these still strike terror in me, a deep throbbing fear in my chest. I see a pale golden pelt, and gasp. Not him, not the bane of my existence, the one who, throughout my apprenticeship, gave me fresh scars each day and shed my blood without a care. No, he doesn't have the scar. But they're…identical. I hear Quailheart speak his name.

"Fallendawn." She purrs, green eyes alit with something more than friendship…something deeper. Something I have not seen in many moons and can no longer recognize. The tom, Fallendawn, steps forward. His eyes! They're the same dark hazel, his face with the square jaw, his long, sweeping tail and large paws. Sharpcloud's son. He was but a mere 'paw when I was cast out. And now, he approaches Quailheart. He sits next to her, their pelts brushing in a manner more intimate than friends. His muzzle presses against hers and I recognize it. The fire in their eyes, the sparks between their pelts, the tenderness and warmth about their gestures. I felt it, once upon a time. Love. Now, instead of tingling with love's soft light, my pelt bristles with anger. How could she do this to me?! We were _mates_! Best friends! We had everything! I thought she actually _cared_ about me! I thought she loved me! No, I thought _I_ loved _her_. I can see now I was wrong. We were nothing more than friends. Our love was pure imagination, the fantasies of a foolish young tom. I can assure you, I no longer know that tom. He has left he. In his place, I hold ice in my heart. The chill of hate and the burn of abandonment.

* * *

I stood over Fallendawn's body, the rush, the thrill, the adrenaline of murder coursing through my very veins. The metallic tang of his blood bathes my tongue. Quailheart huddles in the corner, tail wrapped around her swollen stomach, eyes wide with fear.

"Who a-are you?" She whispers. "Why have you come here?" I stand straighter, and look her in the eyes. Once my amber connects with her brilliant emerald, recognition sparks in her gaze. "Bravethorn?" She breathes. "What happened to you?"

"You don't know, Quailheart? I thought we were supposed to be best friends. Hmm? Shouldn't _you_ know? Oh, no, that's right. Your perfect little life has continued, all daisies and buttercups and sunshine." I take a step forward, baring my teeth. "You have never once felt the _darkness_," I hiss, "and how it _consumes_ you. It ate me alive, Quailheart. And I was all alone." She shrinks back, but her fear scent is no longer there. Her eyes no longer seem afraid, but sad.

"Oh, Bravethorn. Look what's happened to us. To _you_. I should've been there. But," She shrugs, "there was nothing I could do. You were set in your path, your own ways led you to the darkness, my friend."

"Is that all I am to you?" I yowl. "A _friend_? I thought we were more!" I screech, biting my tongue to keep from springing at her this very second. "I thought you loved me." I whisper. Her gaze softens.

"You are my dearest friend, and yes, I did love you once. But you were so _bitter, _so _cold_. Bravethorn, you changed." She murmurs. Her eyes drift to Fallendawn's limp, lifeless body lying upon the ground. Her green orbs turn into shimmering pools, full of grief, as I had looked when Lionpride died. "But why, why did you kill him? What had he ever done to _you_?" She glares at me accusingly, her voice full of pain and anger. It makes me think. What _had_ he ever done to me? He's the son of my enemy. But that doesn't mean he is the same. He stole my mate. No, he didn't. I realize. He _didn't_ steal her. She was never truly mine. And even if she had been, she must have had to consent, to love him, if she could feel this much pain at his death. It is not him I war with. It is _her_. She abandoned me. She never loved me, never returned my affections. She turned away from me. She had had the perfect life, she had been loved. Most of all, she had _forgotten_. Forgotten _me_. I snarl, the icy hate turning to flaming rage that boiled inside of me. Mindlessly, I launch myself at Quailheart, landing on the unsuspecting queen with such power, such force, that she was bowled over and pinned in a matter of seconds. I see red, only red. A haze covers my vision, and I tear and claw viciously, feeling the anger at my mistreatment rise to the surface. I explode.

* * *

The haze clears, and I no longer see red blur. Instead, I see crimson pools. I am staring into the clear, glassy eyes of Quailheart. My enemy. My beloved? I hate her? I love her. She hurt me! She healed me? She was my best friend, she was my worst nightmare. She was queen of my heart, she was bringer of evil. No, she _is_ my mate. I love her. No matter what she's done, I love her. No, she hasn't done anything! It was all me! Everything, everything was in my head! Well, not everything. The Clan hated me. But she was always there. She had never forgotten. I bury my face in her pelt, expecting the familiar, warm scent of my love and hear her soft voice in my ear. All I smell is blood, and all I hear is silence. The pounding of one heart reaches me. And it is my own. My amber eyes widen in shock, and I stare down at her. She isn't breathing.

"No! No! _No_!" I scream. "Quailheart! Quailheart, please! Don't leave me, never leave me! My love, please stay!" Her green eyes flicker and she gasps. "Oh, Quailheart!" I whisper.

"I-I loved you…" She gasps, and then her eyes grow dark and distant, the shallow breaths turn as still as stone. She is gone. I look at her, so small and fragile. I see where my claws had pierced her flesh and where I struck the killing blow. I see her swollen belly, and press a paw to it, knowing that had she lived, I would've loved these kits as if they were my own. I stare down at her, and salty tears course down my cheeks, and the ice in my heart shatters. Pressing my face to hers, I sob, the shudders wracking my body violently. I don't care if the Clan finds me here, death would be far greater than suffering with guilt.

* * *

I killed her.

There was the good, the bad, and now, the grief.

I finally look up, and lock my gaze with hers.

"It is my lady. Oh, it is my love. Oh, that she knew she were." I whisper.

**Sigh, and one more challenge for Darkclan gone. It was "A kit treated well turns out good, a kid treated poorly turns out evil". So, tell me, was it confusing? Shocking? Deep? Please, criticism is quite welcome here!**


End file.
